


Unmasked

by prosaicwonder



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blind Character, Character Study, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, One Shot, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosaicwonder/pseuds/prosaicwonder
Summary: In which Antok reflects on his bond with Kolivan.“Take off your mask for me,” Kolivan said one day, his gaze unwavering. “I want to see you.”But you already are looking at me, Antok wanted to reply, but he knew the implicit meaning behind the sentence: that Kolivan wished to see all of Antok, and that there would no barriers between them.





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about some headcanons I had of these two. Also I love them and want them to be happy even if we can’t have that in canon ;-;  
>  **EDIT** : Now with [fanart](http://vava-fett.tumblr.com/post/166760733999/scene-from-my-antolivan-fanfic-unmasked-comm).

 

Before, he had only known of darkness. 

 

He'd be all alone, stuck in the nothingness with no one to help, no one to pull him out. There was a time when it was the only thing he'd seen, much like the vacuum of space where there was just constant nothingness. 

 

Along with the inky darkness, there were also strange sounds: shuffling footsteps and muffled voices in the distance, which sometimes grew in a crescendo until the words were audible:

 

_'Antok-! ... Antok!!'_

_'We have to get him to the infirmary, NOW!'_

_'Please, we don't have much time!'_

 

And then light began to filter through, strangely warm and soft as it had washed over him. Black gradually became dyed with blues and purple, bright violet expanding across his vision and shifting into a bright white light--

 

Soon, Antok was suddenly awake in a very familiar room, surrounded by rays of blue-violet and rocky walls, with half of his body draped in black and midnight blue. It was not the first time he had woken up this way, in a bed that felt like a second home.

 

He was also aware of the way he had fallen asleep next to his mate, their sides pressed together and a head tilted so that it was resting in the junction between his own shoulder and neck. Antok's own arm was draped over the other's shoulder, hand relaxed against the soft white fur of a bare chest.

 

Smiling softly, Antok's hand moved up until his fingers were weaving through long strands of hair. A low purr emitted from the sleeping figure as he continued his ministrations for a while, all the while he absentmindedly stared up at the ceiling of their chamber.

 

"Mm...?"

 

The sound caused Antok to look down. Kolivan's head was raised slightly as he blinked sleepily, his golden eyes eventually fixing their gaze on Antok's face.

 

 _You're awake_ , Antok thought silently, his fingers moving to resume playing with the loose strands of Kolivan's hair.

 

"What are you thinking about?" Kolivan asked, voice thick from fatigue.

 

"Nothing important," said Antok, and the corners of his mouth curved up underneath the mask. Kolivan stared at him in silent inquisition until Antok continued: "I was thinking about the past."

 

Kolivan rolled over so he was facing Antok, loose white hair falling over his shoulder as he raised his head to look up at his mate. "You are going to have to be more specific."

 

"I was thinking about us." Antok said.

 

"Oh, what about?"

 

* * *

 

It had happened in the midst of a dangerous mission. 

 

They all knew that there was no way of defeating Zarkon’s empire alone - with the few soldiers they had - but they had to begin somewhere, and so his group had been sent onto a distant planet to liberate those in captivity, after receiving confirmation from Thace that Galra soldiers had indeed been in occupation.

 

It had gone well at first; they’d managed to destroy the Galra drones before breaking through the cells to liberate the alien prisoners. They had been lucky in the sense that there had only been one commander in charge then; only a few Galra fleets on the surface of the planet, leaving the rest of it barren and desolate.

 

However, they had missed one fatal step – they had failed to shut down the last bomb drone. What happened next had been a sensory overload: there was a flash of light as bright as the inside of a star, followed by a deafening noise before they had all been flung across the jagged rocky surface of the planet’s ground. Antok had been the closest to the drone when it had happened, and - as he lay on the ground he felt something wet trickle down his temple, out of his ear – he could not hear much of what was happening anymore, but he could faintly make out the screams of the prisoners and fellow Blades around him before everything had faded to black.

 

Decafeebs later, for as long as had the wound, Antok still had not forgotten the excruciating pain, could still feel the scorching heat like acid thrown across his face. The sting of never being able to live normally again had not fully dissipated, either.

 

When he’d come to after the incident, Antok realised that something was not right: he could no longer see: he also wasn’t sure if his eyes were still there anymore. Apparently, Antok had been unconscious and in critical condition for close to six varga; when he had emerged from his comatose state he would always be attended to by one of the Blades. It was different each time, due to their ever-shifting schedules and because the same member could not be there at all times, but whoever was present at the time would sit with him, assisting him with whatever he needed, and updated him on the most recent missions and events which transpired in the organisation.

 

At some point during his recovery, the Blades had been replaced with Kolivan himself, and over time his visits became more frequent until it was a regular occurrence for the two of them to be in the same chamber alone. Sometimes, Ulaz and Thace would visit him too. They brought back gadgets, useful yet odd ones such as a voice-operated clock, a liquid surface indicator with a speaker that would announce the level of liquid which was inside, and a navigation system amulet, which he’d keep in the pouch wrapped above his ankle at all times. They'd spend time showing him how those things all worked, and Antok remembered how both of them had chuckled in sympathy when he'd complain about how troublesome and annoying it all was.

 

As much as they had helped him, Antok resigned himself to the fact that life would no longer be the same again. As the only blind soldier in the base, he had never felt more alone. From then on, he trained himself on how to use his other senses to be more aware of his surroundings. He learned to identify the differences between each area in the base (his chamber was not the same as the main entrance, for example), slid his hands along the walls - rocky in some places, cold and metallic in other ones - in order to ingrain each surface into his own mind.

 

Eventually, Antok had grown accustomed to the greyish-black that surrounded him constantly, like a thick veil of fog akin to the darkest corners of space. He missed the vast openness of the outdoors (outside the asteroid he called home), the endless stars as well as the shapes and sizes of other surrounding planets. He began to forget the way the lights at the base would paint the room in shades of bluish-purple, the way his fellow Blades stood in formation, all lined up like hooded statues. He wanted to fight and to be useful to their society as he’d always been, but he found that without his pair of eyes, his movements were jerky if not sluggish, he’d miss a step or swing the blade a split second too late. He could not afford to go into battle this way...

 

So he isolated himself from the other Blades, forcing himself to train on his own, ignoring the other soldiers around him even though they were always deadly silent. He no longer knew how many quintants had passed or which varga it was. Night blurred into day and there was no difference in being awake or asleep – no matter which state of consciousness he was in, it was always the same inky darkness that surrounded him.

 

However, he was not afraid.

 

“You do not have to do this on your own,” Kolivan had told him some time later. He knew he could not keep going on avoiding the others, and – Antok suspected – someone must’ve alerted their leader of the true reason why he had been in seclusion for so long, because he had found himself being called into a personal meeting with his leader.

 

“If you wish for it, I can assist. However, I may not be able to be there at all times."

 

He had swallowed his pride that day and reluctantly accepted. For a while, Kolivan's eyes acted as Antok's, and it had been this way for a while until several weeks later.

 

“I can arrange for your mask to be modified,” Kolivan’s voice spoke from nearby. From the proximity Antok knew that he was seated next to him on his bed; it was a familiar sound that he’d grown accustomed to since they began to spend time alone like this, and it had been comforting as well. “I received word today that it is possible to create and insert an optical lens which functions in the same way as our eyes do.”

 

Antok remained silent for a moment as he mulled over the possibility, and then he finally spoke: “Why?”

 

“Because it is imperative that, as one of our higher ranked soldiers, you are there to fight at all times. There is no one else here who can replace your position.” Antok wanted to hiss at him and say that his vision impairment was not detracting from his skills. He would prove it to his leader, even if it meant that he would die in the end.

 

However, before he could utter a response, Kolivan seemed to sense his exact thoughts, and he had quickly spoken before Antok could. “I am aware of your most recent activities, Antok, and I will not stop you from doing them. All I ask is that you think it over, in case you wish to take it. It is, however, ultimately your choice.”

 

“Though there is another reason too,” Kolivan confessed, his voice quiet. “As much as I know what you are capable of, I do not wish to see you perish.”

 

That had taken him aback - it was rare for Kolivan to bring personal matters into their meetings. Antok couldn’t see, but by the tone he knew that Kolivan most likely had a torn look on his face. Silently angry at how he couldn’t see this, and at himself for not knowing what to do in this situation, all he could do was sit silently. 

 

Eventually, Antok settled on talking instead, even though he usually did not like to do so. “Thank you.” 

 

There was no response, but he’d heard a soft shuffling in front of him and a weight on one of his shoulders, then more shuffling and footsteps exiting his chamber. Kolivan was gone.

 

* * *

 

When Antok had woken up it had been a near-indescribable experience at first, as if he was caught halfway between a dream and the reality of being in the Blades’ Headquarters. It was as if he was no longer present in his own body; he had always dismissed the theories of how people’s souls would drift out of their bodies and be held in purgatory until it was time for them to be born again. Perhaps the rumours were true, after all, but he did not want to believe that his life had ended yet.

 

As he had laid on the medical table several varga earlier, Antok had felt searing hot pain shoot through what was left of his face, and he’d lurched up automatically in an attempt to stop it. His tail had whipped around on instinct, and there was a crash and the sound of something shattering before he was held down by more than two pairs of hands. The next thing he knew, was that something thin and sharp was jabbed into his forearm before everything went black again.

 

There was a strange flickering, a few ticks of white noise and an abrupt buzz which shot into his temples after he came to, and then the image was completely processed in his mind. His chamber glowed blue-violet around him, as dimly-lit as he’d remembered it to be.

 

He could suddenly see. He could  _see again_.

 

It had also dawned upon him then that his vision encompassed far more than it used to: by manipulating the mask with his mind, he could tilt the lens much like a 360-degree view camera so that he was able to see everything except whatever was behind his back. Later, he found out that his new mask was unique to the others' ones, in that the center circle was significantly larger than normal. No one else would have this ability, except for him.

 

In no time at all, Antok had returned to his old way of life before the accident happened. It had, surprisingly, not taken as long for him to adjust as he thought it would. The Galra were ever-adaptable, especially the Blades – traitors to the Empire who were constantly evading being hunted down and murdered. They had to be.

 

Despite this, the accident had left him with ghosts of self-doubt, and the walls built so tightly around that part of him had begun to crack, leaving it defenseless and exposed. It was why, even after the procedure had been completed and he had fully recovered, he refused to take off the mask even when he was alone.

 

“Take off your mask for me,” Kolivan said one day, his gaze unwavering. “I want to see you.” 

_But you already are looking at me_ , Antok wanted to reply, but he knew the implicit meaning behind the sentence: that Kolivan wished to see all of Antok, and that there would no barriers between them. An odd feeling creeped through him at the thought of that; how long had it been since Kolivan had last seen him unmasked?

 

If he had asked long ago, Antok would’ve revealed himself without hesitation. He would always obey his leader’s orders, but the self-doubt – intrusive and ferociously whirling around over the planes of his mindscape – told him otherwise. He had hesitated then, long enough for Kolivan’s expression to shift into one of concern.

 

“Antok?”

“Sorry, Leader. But I cannot.”

 

He had regretted those words as soon as he’d said them, and if Antok still had both his eyes they would’ve widened in shock and horror, before shifting their gaze away so he was looking at the wall instead. The ghosts in his mind sped towards him, cloaking him in translucent white and draping around him, chanting ‘You’re pathetic,' over and over again as they bound his limbs together; some had wrapped around his neck, choking until he begun to sputter and gag--

 

“It is fine. I should not have asked.”

 

And then Kolivan was gone again. All Antok could do as his silhouette exited the door in front of him, was watch wordlessly as the taunting voices morphed into screams, reminiscent of the time he’d lost his eyes and thought he would no longer to be able to see his leader’s face again.

 

* * *

 

The nightmares had started around that time.

 

Initially, Antok had dismissed it as nothing important. He suspected that he was probably thinking too much and that his thoughts had become distorted in his subconsciousness. He'd dream of the same specters from before, wisps of translucent white and glowing blue-violet, that hissed and harshly whispered words that he'd heard so many times before...

 

' _Useless.'_

_'Weak.'_

_'Not fit to be a soldier.'_

_'You cannot protect anyone.'_

 

But then the dreams had morphed from faceless voices to masked faces who acknowledged him but never spoke a word. The images grew blurry - tainted with more static each time - and then each person who'd appeared in his dreams had been swallowed alive, until there was only one left in front of him.

 

The figure had shifted again, until the familiar silhouette caused the cogs in his mind to turn, just as the shadows had shifted and lurched around them.

 

_'No...!! Kolivan-!!'_

 

And it was the same as before. It didn't matter whether he was caught in an illusion or reality: he'd always find himself alone, surrounded by nothing else but permanent darkness.

 

* * *

 

The nightmares stopped for a while after that. He'd heard from somewhere that dreams were just fragmented thoughts, a subconscious reflection of the dreamer's hopes and fears.

 

It reminded Antok too much of the Trials: the blur between reality and illusion, the mind manipulation, the way the things most important to him would be taken away without his consent...

 

And then the nightmares suddenly returned, as visually fragmented as the jagged pieces of his thoughts, enough to make him stay awake as much as he could.

 

There'd be fire all around him, thick smoke like black fog which constricted around his throat. Some wisps of it would then morph into strange apparitions; he vaguely recalled hearing voices that all seemed to be chanting the same thing, seemingly directed towards him.

 

The image then faded until he was confronting the unknown yet again; he could never escape from the shadows that somehow always managed to be present even in his subconscious mind. This time, however, a faint ray of blue-violet shone against the backdrop of nothingness - a glimmer of hope when all was possibly lost.

 

And then, Antok realised over time, it wasn't so difficult to fall asleep anymore. The darkness began to ebb away, its blank canvas blotted with shades of blue and violet and white. He'd briefly recall hearing someone calling his name softly, a pleasant warm feeling coursing through him at the sound, and those were the moments where he didn't want to wake up the most.

 

In reality, Antok had started slipping again and everything had become a blur. Reality became painful to live in, and drifting off to sleep became his sole comfort - just being able to hear his beloved's voice was enough. Sometimes he imagined feather-light touches against his fingers, over his forearm, across his face... If it was a dream, then Antok could accept that those tender touches were in fact the same ones he'd constantly yearn for in secret.

 

Inevitably, one of his greatest desires - something Antok thought would never happen in real life - had come true in his imagination. During those moments, he could be as straightforward as he wanted, could kiss and hold his beloved and have the same be done to him.

 

He stopped waking up, apparently enough to be warrant concern from others in the real world, and then - one day - he was inevitably confronted by the one person he did not want to find out.

 

“I am afraid that it has come to the point where I have to intervene.”

 

He didn't look up as Kolivan entered his chamber, absent of his mask and hood of his uniform pulled down. Even from far away, the frown lines were evident on his face.

 

There was something else that had caused a rift between them, and it all had to do with the mask -  _his_  mask. The one that made Antok's life easier and simultaneously more difficult at the same time. It was the reason why he'd started to spend more time with his leader, which resulted in the strange dreams and feelings that surfaced more each time. 

 

“You have indeed mastered the art of secrecy, Antok. However,” There was a brief pause before Kolivan continued. “Do you trust me?” 

 

"I trust you," said Antok, his voice hoarse from not being used in a long time. "But I cannot trust myself."

 

"Oh? And why is that?" Kolivan's gaze on him remained unmoving.

 

"It is nothing." Antok hissed.

 

"It is  _not_  nothing," Kolivan fired back, authoritative voice making Antok shrink back slightly. "But if you insist on swearing secrecy on this, then I seek answers."

 

"You... you can't-"

 

"Fight me, Antok. I challenge you. Knowledge or death."

 

He'd undergone the Trials himself long before the accident; it was the second closest call to death he had been in. To have his leader challenge him to another (albeit less formal, and far less deathly) version of the Trials was certainly a shock; however, he would not back down. As much as Antok wanted to keep that part of him a secret, he would not refuse the challenge proposed by Kolivan: he had too much respect for him.

 

The platform they had been standing on creaked before it begun its slow descent, taking the both of them down until they were in the larger training room. Stepping away from the platform, they made their way to opposite ends of the room, withdrawing their blades and getting into their fight stances.

 

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but he found his body moving on its own. From years of fighting alongside each other, Antok knew Kolivan's patterns better than anyone else; he dodged a swing and leapt up, twisting around in the air as Kolivan’s leg narrowly missed hitting him. Antok readied his blade arm as he landed, thrusting it forward at the same time Kolivan's did. The clang of metal on metal resounded through the chamber as their blades collided, bright purple sparks flying with each impact, before they both applied pressure to the handles of each knife. The resulting force sent them both flying backwards, and Antok's legs wobbled as he planted his feet firmly onto the ground in an attempt to stop himself from falling. Just as he managed to gain balance Kolivan was dashing towards him again, legs moving faster than the speed of sound, and then Antok was ducking and dodging blow after blow. When he wasn't deflecting the attacks with his own blade, he would be keeping himself at a further distance. It proved difficult though, because when Antok would resist it spurred Kolivan on even more; the further back he went, the closer Kolivan would move, and their duel continued long after the other Blades had all retreated to their own chambers until the next quintant.

 

At some point, Antok had managed to grip onto Kolivan's wrist with his non-weapon hand, temporarily stopping the blow and preventing the knife from making contact with him. He moved his other hand towards the hilt of Kolivan's blade, his own knife still in his grasp, when a sudden kick to his own leg caused him to break away immediately. Kolivan - now free from Antok's grip - drove his own fist forward, and a crack resounded as Antok was catapulted across the room, landing on the far end closest to the door in a heap as his blade clattered to the ground a few feet away.

 

Despite being smaller than him, Kolivan was within the top-ranked Blades for a good reason. Ever since the two of them had met years ago, he had always been one of the best: it was part of the reason why he was deemed fit to lead the organisation after all. And now, with Kolivan still armed and standing a distance away, Antok had seen his excellence being proven even further.

  

Slow footsteps made their way towards him, the sounds echoing through the chamber. When they had ceased, Antok was in the middle of sitting up from where he had fallen; the luxite blade still lay on the ground, forgotten for the time being. As he tried to catch his breath he looked up at Kolivan, whose stance was now relaxed as he busied himself with returning his own blade into the sheath he kept on one side of his waist.

 

"Why did you challenge me?" Antok asked through ragged breaths. "You knew that I would not end your life, even if I had emerged victorious."

 

"As I said, I sought knowledge," Kolivan replied calmly. "And now I seek answers."

 

When Antok had silently stood up and walked over to retrieve his knive, putting it back into its original place in the sheath he always wore on his back, Kolivan continued: "It is evident that there is a larger issue at hand. What is the problem?"

 

Upon hearing the question, Antok had gone completely still. He'd never been good with words - at least, Antok had never been as eloquent as his leader usually was. He was a creature of few words; when Antok did speak it was only when confronted or when absolutely necessary, and he usually got straight to the point. However, Kolivan brought him out of that safety zone and Antok found himself actively talking to his leader, speaking in longer sentences and sometimes even looking forward to their conversations. 

 

He was better expressing things through actions rather than words, which was why Antok had suddenly moved on his own: despite his size, Antok was still agile, and within less than a tick he had his leader pinned onto the ground, his bulky physique pressed firmly against Kolivan's smaller one. His clawed fingers wrapped around the middle of Kolivan's forearm, and Antok's dominant hand had gripped onto Kolivan's shoulder, pinning him down effectively.

 

However, Kolivan's gaze, impassive as ever, had not faltered, and it evoked something hidden - something dangerous and feral that Antok had held back for too long - from within him. That was why Antok had probably been the one to move yet again, to grip even more tightly at what he had been holding onto as his head bent down until the surface of his mask had almost touched Kolivan's bare skin--

 

And then, after realising what he had done, Antok hastily let go, loosening his grip and pulling his hands away as he moved to stand up, until a soft syllable came from below him:

 

"Don't."

 

Antok froze in place then, looking down at his leader. One of Kolivan's hand rose up until it was cupping the masked area where his cheek was. Even with the garment on, he still felt it when Kolivan's thumb had stroked across the material there.

 

Despite the inner conflict which ran through his thought processes, Antok waited for his leader to speak further. His hands were now planted onto the ground, one on each side of Kolivan; his thighs still straddling the ones below his own. 

 

A soft chuckle caused him to snap out of his stupor, and something had twinged within Antok upon seeing the bemused expression Kolivan was wearing, his eyes crinkled at the edges and corners of his mouth turned upwards. It was an unusual sight to see his leader this way: he thought he'd never see this again, with the way Kolivan's face had been marred and aged from years of fighting the Galra Empire. And, oh - he hadn't realised how much he had missed seeing that expression, how much he had longed to see it again. 

 

"You always relied on your actions more than words, Antok. But they have given me the answers I sought for a long time."

 

 _For a long time..._? Antok wondered, and then it had hit him, faster and harder than any loose boulder he'd ever had to deflect in his lifetime. Was he really that easy to read? He thought he had kept that part of himself hidden well enough.

 

The hand on Antok's cheek jolted him back to the present: Kolivan's thumb pressed a bit further into the material on his cheek, enough to be felt though not in any way that would cause Antok pain or discomfort. 

 

"May I take this half off?" Kolivan asked quietly, making Antok go very still as he realised the implications behind that question. How rare was it for his leader to ask for permission; it was always the other Blades who asked Kolivan for such things, Antok himself included. But this time, the roles had been reversed. He was unsure what to do, after being caught off-guard in such a way.

 

Eventually, Antok relented before he spoke again: "You may."

 

He felt the thumb brush across his cheek again, surprisingly gentle before another hand moved up to cup his other cheek. They then moved until the tips of Kolivan's fingers hooked under the edge of Antok's mask, lifting the fabric-like material up and exposing the skin underneath. Having his real face exposed - even if it was just partially - was oddly satisfying; sometimes he wanted nothing more than to see the world without a barrier, to feel the coolness of the atmosphere against his bare skin and not worry about covering any more parts of it or being scarred once again.

 

Though Antok knew that he would probably have to rely on his new eyes until he perished one day, and - until the current war ended for good - he had to keep the mask on for as long as it would go on. That, and he had yet to overcome the worst of his insecurities, still.

 

Soon, Kolivan's hands were resting against the sides of his face again, and they pulled him down gently until their noses were close to touching and all he saw in front of him were the glowing yellow sclera which reminded him of the tales of a distant sun from many light years away.

 

This time, Antok wasn't sure who had moved first. It had been unexpected, but welcoming nonetheless, when Kolivan's mouth had been pressed against his own. As superficial and light as the way Kolivan's thumbs had brushed across his cheeks, his leader's lips were also gentle as they ghosted across his own. His forked tongue darted out in response, wet tip giving a soft lick, silently asking for permission. He felt Kolivan's mouth part slightly, and he pressed harder, with more longing as something feral burned through him. His Galra instincts were probably acting up again, Antok thought as his large hand wrapped around the braid that Kolivan always wore, stroking it tenderly before rubbing his thumb over the tied-up strands of silvery white. A low purr emitted from Kolivan, vibrating weakly against their lips as he felt a smaller hand slide down his cheek, going lower until its palm rested flat against his chest armor. 

 

And then it had ended, with the two of them breaking away until their foreheads pressed together, feeling the heat of their breaths against each other's lips as they remained still. Time seemed to pass by very, very slowly, until Antok broke the silence and spoke again:

 

"So, tell me about those answers, Leader." he dared to say, trace of a teasing undertone in those words.

 

"Do not address me as such," Kolivan replied quietly. He was looking up into the lens of Antok's mask, and the image of Kolivan - cheeks flushed a pale lilac, mouth slightly parted, chest heaving as he caught his breath, glowing yellow eyes half-lidded and heavy with something indescribable - was burned heavily into Antok's mind, so much so that he would look back and remember that exact moment years later.

 

"When we are alone like this, I am just Kolivan."

 

* * *

 

That had been another twenty-something decafeebs ago, before the rumours of Voltron resurfacing began to circulate in their base. Since then, they were constantly by each other's side, whether it was on the battlefield or not. 

 

In hindsight, it was inevitable that the two of them would end up being marked by each other as well. It had not been planned, but it was rather a result of their bond deepening further. Ulaz explained later on that it was a normal occurrence, as something similar had happened with him and Thace years before.

 

It had all been strange and foreign to Antok in the early stages of their relationship, but over time he had grown to love everything about his mate: his composure when leading them into missions, the way he'd look at Antok with a gentle fondness sometimes, the way he fit so perfectly in Antok's arms as they lay together in Kolivan's bed, his own tail wrapped around their bodies like the silky midnight blue sheets which clung to them both.

 

There were also little things which proved that they trusted each other unconditionally. Antok’s hands, as large and deadly as they were, were gentle whenever they’d handle his mate. Sometimes, Kolivan would ask him to braid his hair after they had both woken up. Antok would then move to stand behind him as his clawed fingers moved to run through the white strands. He was unexpectedly tender when getting the knots out, meticulous when weaving segments of long hair into the familiar braid Kolivan was known for wearing at all times.

 

Sometimes, during those quiet moments alone, Kolivan would softly ask him to take off his mask. Over the years the habit had stuck with him, and Kolivan had accepted it without pressuring Antok to change; to him it didn't matter what he looked like, he accepted his mate regardless. It was just that - sometimes - Kolivan did not want to forget what laid underneath the surface.

 

Whenever he would ask, Antok would then comply, bringing up a hand to his own face and calling off the garment. Kolivan would watch as the fabric disappeared, seemingly sinking under Antok's skin before his real face emerged to the surface. Gently, Kolivan would caress the scarred flesh and truly  _feel_  him underneath, tracing over the dented and scarred flesh lovingly before lowering Antok's head to meet his own, planting kisses over as many parts of his face as Kolivan could reach.

 

This time had been no different, either. 

 

Lying together side-by-side after waking up in each other's arms, exposed and open to each other - there was no need to keep secrets. Not anymore.

 

_'I was thinking about us.'_

 

* * *

 

"So it still bothers you," Kolivan said quietly, eyes softened in silent understanding.

 

 _Yes_ , Antok thought, before a hand moved to grasp his own larger one.

 

"You are not alone in this struggle. I am here for you." 

 

Kolivan moved to bring their hands up to rest over the scar over his right eye. The size of Antok’s hand was large enough to encompass the entire side of Kolivan's face; he loved how warm Antok's hands always felt against his bare skin.

 

“You and I are the same. We have both been tarnished by them, but does it stop us? No." Kolivan said. "Because we will never stop fighting until we finally bring an end to this savagery.”

 

Wordlessly, Antok waited for him to continue. Their joined hands slid down from Kolivan's face until their joined hands were nestled between the two of them. “Every day I think about how fortunate I am, to be able to fight alongside those who want peace in the same way as I do, that you are still here, breathing and alive, at my side.”

 

"Sometimes I think about what would happen if we had existed in another life… another reality, even, where you and I were fighting in the same war and you had been killed - … and-"

 

Antok’s gaze shifted upwards in alarm as he heard the crack in Kolivan's voice. As long as they had been together for, it was still rare for him to have vulnerable moments like this. 

 

Tentatively, Antok leaned in closer, wrapping his muscular arms around Kolivan and resting his chin on top of his head. He resisted chuckling out loud at the way Kolivan's feathery ears tickled his neck before he spoke again.

 

“Ridiculous as always,” Antok scoffed. "That would never happen.”

 

"I suppose that is true," said Kolivan. "It cannot happen. Not in this reality, at least."

 

Antok felt the bottom of his mask being lifted and a pair of lips brushing against the edge of his jawline. He felt Kolivan move up and then another kiss, firmer this time, was pressed against his own lips. As much as he wanted to keep going, they had missions to attend to. Smiling, Antok sat up, pulling Kolivan up along with him, and they both stood up away from the bed, Antok's hand in Kolivan's as they stood to face each other. He let go of Kolivan's hand before they both moved to suit up. 

 

After they were both done, Antok reached up to pull his mask back down only for Kolivan's hand to stop him.

 

"One more time."

 

Antok snorted before bending down so that his face was level with Kolivan's, bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks and pressed their lips together one more time. It was usually Antok who initiated, with Kolivan patiently waiting for him after softly asking him to do so. He never thought that he would be capable of feeling so intensely for another person, let alone another member of the society he was a part of, but Kolivan had changed that mindset within him, had been there by Antok's side and brought his deepest emotions to the surface, encouraging him to no longer afraid of exposing his vulnerabilities. It was the highest level of trust: a bond like no other.

 

They broke away slowly, all lingering gazes and soft touches, before they moved to step apart. Antok stared at his mate, pulling the mask back over the lower half of his face, and his soft smile and tender gaze remained hidden as Kolivan looked back at him with his own masked visage. They both pulled their hoods over their heads before nodding and turning towards the exit.

 

"Let's go."


End file.
